Blood Falls (29 page)

‘Glenn, over here!’ Leon drew Fenton aside. ‘I reckon we’ve got everything we need.’

‘Except contact details for this Morton character. But if what Victor says is true he shouldn’t be too hard to locate.’

Leon frowned. ‘You don’t think Vic’s been lying to us?’

‘A figure of speech.’ Fenton smacked his lips with pleasure. ‘In my view this is completely authentic. And it’s solid gold, just as he claimed.’

Glenn heard him and looked at Leon, who gave a grudging nod. ‘Good work, putting us on to him.’

Fenton coughed quietly. ‘Would it not be wiser to return him home, or abandon him by the roadside somewhere?’

‘Normally it would, Clive. But not this time.’ Leon studied Victor, his mangy head still bowed, his skeletal frame distorted by the cords that bound him to the chair. ‘I mean, look at him. Fucker thought he was gonna con a
hundred grand
out of me.’

The three of them turned to examine their prisoner. Fenton made a busy humming noise, which meant he was reluctantly coming round to Leon’s way of thinking. Nothing from Glenn, of course.

‘Well?’ Leon snapped.

Glenn jumped as if he’d been shot. ‘If you say it’s the right thing to do …’

‘It is.’ He told Fenton to call Derek. Then a nod to Reece to get started.

Reece and Todd took up position behind the chair. Both wore latex gloves. Victor was quietly moaning to himself, his feet jumping and twitching as though in their own death throes. Leon grabbed a chair and placed it directly opposite, within touching distance of his prisoner.

Fenton finished his call and said, ‘On his way.’

‘Perfect.’ Leon caught a glimpse of movement: Glenn edging towards the door. ‘Where the hell are you going?’

‘Thought I’d grab some fresh air.’

‘Fuck that. Come and sit down.’ Leon glowered at him until he complied. ‘You’re part of this. You can see it through to the end.’

Glenn didn’t respond. Victor had lifted his head and was staring at them. Maybe it was the words ‘the end’. Or maybe he had just tuned in to the atmosphere in the room.

‘Hold him tight,’ Leon said. ‘That’s gonna be the key thing.’

‘Mr Race …’ Vic’s plea for mercy was drowned out by a rasping whip crack as Reece noisily unrolled a strip of duct tape. As the tape was slapped over Victor’s mouth, Leon sensed everyone relaxing a little. If Victor couldn’t beg for mercy, then mercy could be set aside, forgotten.

Leon still felt the man was getting off lightly. Far more satisfying to beat him to death, but that would be messy. Leon wanted the Crow’s Nest open for Sunday lunches tomorrow.

Taping his eyelids proved to be tricky, involving a certain amount of violence to make Victor comply. By now he understood what they intended to do, and he wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

A sudden stench made them all recoil. ‘He’s bloody shit himself,’ Todd exclaimed.

‘Ah, fuck. Hurry up, or we’ll have to fumigate the place.’

Leon watched as Reece and Todd grasped Victor’s head and shoulders, wedging their legs against the sides of the chair. When they were sure he couldn’t move an inch, Reece simply reached over and pinched Victor’s nostrils together.

His eyes bulged in their sockets; another panic sweat broke out on his forehead and he made a terrible keening noise in his throat.

Leon settled back in his chair. At least by doing it this way he could comfortably observe every second of the man’s death. That had to be a bonus worth savouring.

It wasn’t often you got the chance to see the lights go out.

Fifty

THEY STOOD UP
, moving apart by a couple of feet. There were awkward smiles and exaggerated sighs and some unnecessary bustling around as they took their empty glasses through to the kitchen.

‘We were going to have coffee,’ Ellie said.

‘I’m full to bursting. Another time, perhaps?’

‘Yes. Absolutely. Look, you don’t mind …’

‘No. Of course not.’

Out in the hall she became uncharacteristically subdued. ‘You remember what you said the other day, about Diana having a boyfriend? Well, at first I thought you must know I was Glenn’s ex-wife, and you were rubbing my nose in it.’

Joe was shocked. ‘Why would I do that?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose it’s what I’ve come to expect. This is a cruel place.’

He put his jacket on, mulling over the implications of what he had learned tonight.

‘You said Glenn can’t help himself. Do you think he’s still having affairs?’

‘More than likely, unless you believe a leopard can change its spots. But you mustn’t tell Diana I said that. It’ll only feed her distrust.’

Ellie opened the front door. Peeked out. ‘There’ll be curtains twitching as you leave.’

‘Are you worried about word getting back to Glenn?’

‘Diana will tell him, won’t she?’ she said, and Joe felt foolish for not having thought of that. Of course she would.

And once Glenn knows, Leon will know
.

‘What about Leon’s relationships?’ he asked. ‘Is he married? Gay? What?’

Ellie folded her arms across her chest and shivered. ‘I don’t know. I think he’s had girlfriends in the past. Occasionally you see him with a glamorous woman on his arm, but Glenn claims that he hires escorts for social events. Anyway, most of the time he’s got that entourage of his at the house. I don’t see how any wife or girlfriend would put up with that.’

‘Not to mention how he treats people,’ Joe said, adding quickly: ‘Allegedly.’

She smiled. Didn’t rise to the bait. He stepped over the threshold, then turned back to say goodbye. Their farewell kiss carried some heat, but there wasn’t the same turbocharged connection they’d had in the lounge.

‘See you again soon?’ he said, and she nodded enthusiastically.

‘I hope so.’

Joe walked slowly along her street, aware that he was pleasantly drunk, and in an equally pleasant kind of turmoil. He carried a kiss to remember, but nothing he regretted.

It was a perfect night for a slow walk: clear and perfectly still. A sky rich with stars and moonlight shining a silver path across the glassy sea. A few birds sang, eccentrically, in the trees of a large, unkempt garden. Apart from that, and the distant gentle rasp of the tide, there was silence.

In a dreamy mood, a line from
Under Milk Wood
came to him:
And all the people of the lulled and dumbfound town are sleeping now
.

But they were not. There was a light on at the funeral parlour.

* * *

The main building was in darkness, but the gates were standing open. The light came from the flat-roofed building at the rear of the yard. The limo was parked where Joe had seen it the other day, with the hearse tight alongside to make room for a third vehicle: a black Transit van, backed up to a set of double doors.

Joe studied the scene. He couldn’t rule out the possibility that this was another trap, but it seemed unlikely. Still he waited a minute or two, until he was satisfied there was no one observing him from the shadows. He was about to move when he recalled the images he’d seen in Leon’s comms room. Feed from a security camera in this very yard.

But by now his curiosity was piqued. Reflecting that CCTV was no deterrent to a drunken idiot, he hurried across the yard, head down, staying mostly in the shadow of the main building. Up close, he saw that the double doors were firmly shut. A dim, uncertain light shone from three small windows, but the glass was opaque. Nothing to be seen.

Then he realised the same flickering illumination was visible above the building. Joe retreated, stood on tiptoe and spotted the protruding edge of a skylight. He wouldn’t have given it another thought, except that the hearse was close enough to make a perfect stepping stone.

This is madness
, the sober voice in his head was shouting as he climbed onto the vehicle. He took care not to dent the bodywork, or to leave fingerprints anywhere. He managed to clamber up with barely a sound; just a low metallic
whump
as he lifted his weight off the car.

The roof of the building was clad in felt with a layer of stone chippings. Impossible to traverse without making a loud crunching noise. Only by keeping to the very lip of the roof could he move safely to within a foot of the skylight. Just beyond it there were a couple of extraction units, their fans whirring away.

Gingerly, Joe knelt down and leaned forward, just far enough to see into the room. As he’d guessed from the double doors, this was where the bodies were brought for preparation. It was full of
equipment, a lot of gleaming stainless steel: embalming tables and hydraulic trolleys for transporting coffins, sluice sinks and a set of cold-storage chambers, like oversized filing cabinets.

The peculiar lighting was explained by the fact that only one of the room’s fluorescents was lit; it was augmented by half a dozen candles, placed at intervals around the only table currently in use. The warm, pulsating glow looked utterly inappropriate in such a cold, sterile environment. It sent a shiver of revulsion through him, even before he caught sight of Derek Cadwell.

The undertaker was attending to the corpse of an emaciated old man. Possibly a tramp, judging by the pile of tatty clothing which lay on the tiled floor. The man had filthy grey hair, missing teeth and bruises all over his face and body.

Cadwell wore disposable polypropylene overalls, gloves and a mask. The dancing shadows played over his pink, shiny scalp and for a second Joe was put in mind of a medieval grave-robbing scene, or the good Dr Frankenstein at work on his monster.

It was eleven-thirty at night. What the hell was going on?

His best guess was that a homeless man had been found dead and brought in, but Joe would have expected more activity than this. Where were the police, the other funeral-home staff to take care of the paperwork?

Joe moved sideways a few inches to get a clearer view of the body. The old man’s feet were swollen and mangled, caked in dried blood. Perhaps a car had run over them, he thought, although the rest of the body was relatively intact. A very unusual road fatality, if it was that.

He considered calling 999. Let the police make sure this was all above board. But he knew that an anonymous call, this late on a Saturday night, would invariably be given a low priority, assumed to be a drunken hoax.

And what, exactly, would he be alleging? As proprietor of the funeral
home, Cadwell was entitled to work at any time that suited him. That it was an unsettling sight probably owed more to what Alise had told him about Cadwell. But there was no proof of that. And no Alise.

Below him, Cadwell fetched a bottle of fluid: disinfectant, maybe. His head bobbed as though he was talking to someone. Joe tried to adjust his position but lost his balance, his knee thudding against the roof, Cadwell reacting, turning towards the skylight …

The Transit was the nearest vehicle. Joe didn’t even think about it. He sprang up and jumped the gap. Hit the corner of the Transit’s roof, his toes barely making contact before he crouched, hands splayed on the roof while he threw his legs over the side and dropped like a gymnast descending from the bars.

He didn’t land much like a gymnast, clumsily turning one of his ankles. Stifling a groan, he dashed across the yard and heard the double doors open. An angry voice shouted: ‘Who’s there?’

So they hadn’t seen him clearly, if at all. Thank God
.

Joe kept on running till he was within fifty yards of the B&B, adrenalin beating off the effects of a large meal and too much wine. Finally he slowed to a walk, muttering a string of curses, furious that a man of his age could have done something so reckless, so stupid. It was only as he reached the front door that he started laughing.

Fifty-One

THIS TIME, WHEN
he came in, everything felt different. What little routine he had established was broken.

And
he
was different. As soon as he stepped into the cell Jenny could feel the energy coursing from his body. The smells he brought with him were a mix of food and alcohol and nicotine, sweat and fear and violence.

He was keyed up, thrilled, but also on edge, as though he’d been close to danger and survived but couldn’t yet accept that survival. She pictured a man staggering across a motorway after a pile-up, turning back to survey the wreckage and noticing the bodies of those who hadn’t been so lucky.

His first words were: ‘Before you ask, it’s three in the morning. Middle of the fucking night.’

Day four
, Jenny thought. She had been here longer than that, perhaps much longer, but this was the fourth day since she’d begun to grasp the passage of time.

The first set of batteries had failed during her fingertip search. That was when she realised she could scratch a thin line on the stone floor, using the edge of a dead battery to mark out a calendar.

The batteries might have other uses, too, if she could only force her brain to be more inventive, more constructive. She feared he would demand them back, but probably not during this visit. He had come here with a very specific purpose in mind.

‘Switch the torch on,’ he ordered. ‘Shine it on yourself.’

He wanted to see if she was washing thoroughly enough. As the beam of light wobbled across her body she felt the waft of air that meant he had stepped closer, and she knew then why she was picking up so many scents from his skin.

He was naked. He had come to her naked.

‘That’s better,’ he grunted. ‘Light off.’

She complied, expecting him to move in, but he remained where he was. She listened to him breathing, and once again a dangerous sense of abandon overcame her.

‘Why do you hide your face?’

Silence.

‘I mean, I’ve seen you before. I know who you are.’

Silence.

‘I think you’re ashamed. That’s why you won’t let me look at you. Because you’re a better man than this.’

A laugh, scornful but amused.

‘You are. There are people who love you. Family. Friends. They wouldn’t want to imagine you’re capable of this.’